


rotten encounters

by Emeka



Category: Summon Night (Video Games)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Awkward Sexual Situations, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Dubious Morality, Extremely Dubious Consent, Intimate Psychotherapy, M/M, Manipulation, lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Filled from the No True Pair community. Though it seems to be dead by now, I thought the prompts themselves and how they work was interesting.
Relationships: Erst Brattern/Folth, Gian Crastof/Folth, Gian Crastof/Ist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Gian/Ist

**Author's Note:**

> i have a vague feeling the game uses 'eating' in some metaphysical, magical sense, but i choose the hornier path

He must admit, there is a small part of him that is intrigued. This is an aspect of life he never saw just watching the only two other people born in this world with him. Separated from both him and each other they had no opportunity for romantic relationships, though they knew friendship with the guardians he sent them. 

The others came, with their exotic attentions, and he sees them learning that too. They compliment in husky voices, preen like birds, and touch where there is no necessity to touch. So much touching. He can't see how Raj and Amu stand it--but they've always been more sociable with the outsiders. 

For a while he stands by, watching as he always has. He sees Amu and Natsumi and Cassis spending the night together, gossiping and grooming each other. Peculiar thing to do when they never had trouble brushing their hair before. Many of the females pair off like that as they arrive.

Most of his nights are spent watching them, without much need for sleep or other human obligations. Usually they're asleep but sometimes he finds one up walking about, and wonders what they might be doing. Once he comes across Magna and Amer mating--or something close, in the dim light--and stares a moment in consternation before switching it off. He's not sure if they are capable of reproducing in this world, but why risk it?

Primarily it's Raj he watches, the one he flips back to after every other one. His high energy and cheerful mannerisms have since the beginning drawn his eye more, compared to Amu. Even asleep he's interesting. He's always rolling around and making faces.

Tonight he does not find him asleep, or reading by lamplight, the alternative. Raj is sitting up, with a lamp on, yes, but examining himself with a very determined expression between his legs.

Ist does not switch away so quick this time, though he's aware this is something private he shouldn't be seeing, just as he always knew using the restroom and bathing are private. There's a strange, bitter taste in his mouth. Raj has never done this before; something else, he knows, related to the otherworlders.

Though he does not understand it with his own emotions, he knows intellectually of attraction, sexual urges, etc., etc. 

Is Raj attracted to someone?

The thought almost startles him. It is also what causes him to turn the image off.

It's another step in how they--at least, Raj--have grown closer to the others. And this time it's a type of commitment he's not sure he can try to join them in, as he had involved himself before.

He goes to bed. In this room he has anything he really needs. It is cool. Dark. It is _his_ room. In here he can do more or less as he likes… but as dark and private and his as it is, even with these arrivals, he has never thought to do anything private, nor is there any face he can recall that makes him want to. 

Perhaps it is because he is not human, only something made to look like one. His body's singular purpose is to devour anything in front of it. Procreating is the only _logical_ purpose of sex, and he doubts his body is capable of seeding anything in the body of another.

Still, he sleeps. He eats regular food, not what he was intended for. He bathes. Uses the restroom. His need for these things is far reduced from others, but still they exist. Why doesn't sexuality figure into that as well?

His hands follow the shape of his body from atop his clothing. Broad shoulders and chest, the slight roll down his ribs to his stomach. More solidly built than Raj. Unambiguously male. It's a strange word to think of in relation to himself when he has always felt somewhat detached from his skin. It's a vessel, shaped a certain way. That's all.

Even here, where his hipline leads to between his legs. He feels nothing. Perhaps he needs something to bolster his lack of desire. Or to make up for it entirely.

A few days pass. He mulls the matter over, and watches. The more he sees, the more he sees himself again falling behind. Like a grain of sand in a clam shell, it irritates his mind and it won't let go. It's not that fitting in is in itself important to him. He wants… to experience the things Raj experiences, and the way he further falls in with them. To have even some fragment of the way he has changed in response to his environment, and all his life and energy.

Is he attracted to Raj?

It's a possibility. Why else so much concern? But if he is, it is an attraction without sexuality.

As this world's overseer he knows of all the floral and fauna in it--non-native or not. He knows the sweet fruits from the sour, where the animals burrow, the places it is most likely to rain and when, where to pluck herbs and to what effect they may be utilized.

Perhaps there somewhere, lies the answer to fortifying the area in which he lacks. He finds complicated mixtures beyond his knowing in textbooks at the medical center, but he recognizes all the parts involved. Actually bringing one to life will only involve care and attention, resources he has no lack of. One stands out as tentatively promising: a sex aid meant to increase bodily arousal, helpful to men unable to maintain an erection and women having painful intercourse.

He stays up one of his sleepless nights to prepare it. A sense of apprehension hangs heavy in his lower belly that he would almost call scientific excitement. This is the first time he's done anything like this, and for a purpose such as this--will it really work? The end product is a paste that can be shaped and baked into tablets but all that it needs from here is to be ingested.

None of the others are much interested in him. They use words like 'creepy' and 'cold' to describe him, to his face and among themselves. But can his experiment be called complete if it only works on himself--if he does not complete the exchange of attraction and desire, and whatever else follows? No, he decides. The question he asks himself then is who to try it on. Not Raj, Amu, or Folth. They are the only ones to show him any particular consideration, and he doesn't want to risk changing that, should something go awry. Any one of the others, male, just in case.

The next morning he goes to the cove to fish and thinks it over. None of them are like him, but a temperament similar to his might be preferable. A little vulnerable. If he wanted to devour someone based on those specifications, who would he choose?

Gian. Haughty but socially reserved, and not as abrasive about it as Ishlar. He'd gone out of his way and put himself at risk to save Hayato, despite his hatred of humans. He may be manipulated into going out of his way again… and like Ist, he dresses heavy, almost protectively, hiding his skin. While he cannot yet know for certain how he'll feel when the time comes, the idea of baring himself in any way for another is an uneasy thing. If he is likely to be uncomfortable, best to make sure the other party suffers likewise.

The pier is wet and loaded with fish by the time he's certain of his choice. Everyone will be able to eat as much as they like today. At least for lunch. They _do_ eat a great deal.

Around that time he wanders into the kitchens. He has a fairly good idea by now of everyone's schedule, and knows who prefers to avoid the rush and crush of bodies and voices. He's one of them himself. Ray and Fair eye him when he offers to take his meal now and deliver Gian's, but he knows it is only the fact he has never done such a thing before. Nothing personal… probably.

Separating Gian from Enysha is the next quandary. The solution is to (lure) invite him to his (den) room, alone. Urgent business, but private. He leaves a letter to Linen to deliver before making the rest of the way home.

Here in the cool and dark he feels like a spider. Waiting, thrumming the threads of his web. He waits with the drugged food, pirate lunchboxes made with the fish he caught, and feels a way he hasn't since before Raj and Amu were born. Still. Emptied. Waiting to feed.

The first knock makes him stir inside himself, like the undertow in the ocean. For a moment he can't respond. He's so deep underneath the sound is a mere pebble... but as he stirs, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, it becomes a vibration. "Enter."

Gian comes slowly down into the basement where his room lies, looking around the otherwise empty room like a wary rabbit. "You asked for me." Not quite a question. He stays halfway up the steps, leaning over enough to see in that his coat falls open on one side.

Ist notes with anticipatory interest the line of his abdomen leading down to hip and thigh. Is this attraction? No; only the way a predator views a prey, the movements of unease, _weakness_ drawing his eye like a limping gazelle does the lion. Soon though, he hopes to know. "Forgive me my little deception. There's nothing wrong. I only wished to share a meal with you."

"Enysha--"

"--complains you are too overbearing. It is safe here. She will be glad of some privacy."

Gian comes down a few more steps. "Why lunch?" The tone of his voice is hard, and hard to decipher, but his legs are easier to read, straining forward reluctantly. Mentally he's already resigned himself to being here, however much he doesn't want to be. He just needs some convincing to get his body up to speed.

"On the contrary, why not? We are comrades… and it is far quieter here than the Pavillion. I thought you'd appreciate not having to be around them."

Gian sighs, softening, surrendering… he really needs to stop looking at him like that. He doesn't want to eat Gian, or any of the rest of them. But it's such an easier way of looking at them. He can logically guess how someone might feel, but they are so far from logical.

When he looks into his eyes, he can't read the weather in them. He's staring, still frowning slightly, but at least he's actually down here now. In his place he'd be suspicious, but whether he is or not, he still takes the seat beside him.

He only notices the paste in this scanty light because he's looking for it. It is here and there on slabs of fish, carefully above the stew line, should being dissolved deprive it of its effect. They eat in silence. Every now and again he glances at Gian, to see if anything changed.

He notices it in him very quickly after he notices it in himself. Ah. This must be it, this hugely unsettled feeling in his intestines. Tension traveling from there to between his legs. Gian coughs into his hand and shifts in his seat. Ist internally nods in agreement; it is an uncomfortable sensation. 

"Do you feel ill?" Perhaps being part human, he experiences it more agreeably.

"Something came up on me," Gian mumbles. A reddish hue is settling into his cheeks before Ist's fascinated eyes. "You don't look well, either. Perhaps something is wrong with the food."

Flushing is caused by the dilation of blood vessels, which makes the skin red and warm. His face doesn’t feel warm, just itchy. “No, the food is fine. This is because of me.”

“You?”

Ist pauses a moment, gauging how honest to be. He doesn't want anything blamed on Ray and Fair's cooking, but that doesn't mean he has to tell the whole truth. On the other hand, if Gian knows the entirety of what is occurring, he may be less resistant to doing what he wants. "I'm running an experiment to see how sexuality works with this body." He leaves out all the rest, about Raj, and feeling left behind. It's too long to get into, and he's not sure how he'd put it into words. "Thus far I have only been able to force it to respond this much, and intend to see how much farther it can go." What else? Oh, yes. "I would appreciate your cooperation."

"You drugged me." His voice is oddly flat, but he makes for a moment as if to rise then sits back down. "Into feeling like this."

"Forgive me." He tentatively reaches out, for a knee, a thigh, whatever he can touch to help them begin, but barely makes into Gian's personal space before his hand is swatted away with a _don't touch me_ snarl. Even through the glove, it stings. He frowns. "The sooner we begin, the sooner we can finish."

"We're not… beginning… anything."

Gian had risen, then sat, and now his arm blockades his front, the hand gripping into his seat. Ist can guess why a man might act that way; it may even be the cause of this tension in his own body. "You intend, then, to walk out in that state? When anyone could see you? Even if you stayed here, there is no knowing how long the symptoms will persist without direct intervention."

Gian hems and mumbles darkly through a series of increasingly troubled expressions. "Isn't it enough to do this on your own? Why drag me into it?"

"No, I wish to experience both sides. And it has nothing to do with you, in particular. I merely picked who seemed the most compatible."

He mutters something else under his breath ('compatible'?) then sighs. He's a tall man, broader than Ist, but for a moment he seems quite small. "I'm not using anything except my hands."

"That's fine," Ist says, mind whirring a moment with possibility. Perhaps intercourse would be too much the first time, when Raj and Amu haven't even gotten this far. But knowing he'll die with Illidelucia's death… he wonders. "Which order would you prefer?"

"You first. That is, I mean, me… touching you." The last of it is nearly a whisper. His face is so red by now it nearly matches his hair.

It's slightly uncomfortable to be the one to first bare himself. But it's an action he'd have to perform at some point, if he wants to know what he wants to know.

This thing in his pants that makes him 'male' more than any other part has before been floppy, like some manner of sea cucumber. Pulling it out when he needs to urinate is no problem. This erect state is more cumbersome; it strains so much against his clothing he must nearly coax it up and through. The tails of his coat obscure him still from sight and easy access, the fabric heavy enough it only makes the slightest of impressions from the underside. The absurdity of the whole situation strikes him. He's gone through a great deal of trouble just to get this ridiculous-looking thing to respond like this.

Nonetheless, he pulls it up further, between a slit in his clothing. The spools rattle softly as he adjusts things to fit comfortably. He knows what he supposes is basic knowledge of his anatomy's workings. This is his penis, typically as bluish-pale as the rest of him but now flushed red. This is the foreskin, pulled back around the glans. Urine and semen travel through the urethra, out the meatus. The times he's seen Raj nude he's noted they are the same, barring minor differences. So Illidelucia did not form him any differently here. Perhaps to complete his disguise as a human, whatever circumstances might arise.

There are many species that consume the mate after procreation.

"I understand it can get messy. You may want to remove your gloves." He looks up in time to see the last of a nose wrinkle leave Gian's expression.

"I'll take my chances."

"As you wish." Far be it from him to tell someone more human than he how he must complete a human process. He leans back non-threateningly into his seat, though his instinct is to hover with such a vulnerable part of him exposed. "Have you done this before?

"Mind your own business." Must be a 'no', then. Nothing about his faltering movements suggests experience. His fingers briefly wrap around near the base of his penis, on and off like it's too hot to touch, before settling. If he is even more compatible than he thought, maybe he hasn't even done this to himself. "Just… be quiet so I can concentrate."

Ist half-closes his eyes, allowing his focus to drift slightly. The sight of someone pumping him is a curious one, but there's even more need to sort through his feelings. There's a tingling sensation in his penis that lights up with every full pull upward or downward. Is this pleasure? The tightness in his stomach grows until it feels like a rubber band, stretched taut to the snapping point. He's not sure he cares for it. And through it he does not feel what he hoped to: attraction. Gian is no different to him now than he was before.

As soon as the realization hits, he loses interest in the moment despite his bodily reactions. His mind drifts with his gaze.

One time he fished at the pier, while further beyond a group of the other men played, enough out of his way and direction to be safe. He did not understand _why_ they would do such a thing, but watching them appealed to him. They gamboled like seals, splashing and kicking water, all wet shiny flesh and old boxer shorts and sea foam. You saw the differences between them better without the layers of clothing. The clavicles on one, the scapula on another, Raj’s coltish legs. Graceful, vibrant, and utterly removed from him. The one time they mistook his interest for a desire to join and tried to pull him in, he was sincerely cross.

Gian hadn’t been among them. Perhaps he can’t be attracted to him because they are too similar. He wishes he could freely unglove him and see the lines of his palm to read like constellations.

The band snaps.

He stifles down a noise in his throat. All the tension in his body funnels into and crushes down between his legs. For a too-long and too-short time his awareness focuses on the rough rubbing on his shaft, yanking out squirt after squirt of off-white liquid. The sensations are _strong_ but that’s all he can tell of them; and after they stop, leaving him struggling to breathe evenly and sweating, he wants nothing more than to withdraw and collect himself.

His muscles relax, with effort, loosening his fingers from his armrests. There’s still his part in this to complete. It may even be rude to stop now.

Gian slowly parts his dirtied hand from his flesh, another scowl scrunching his face. “I can’t go out with this either, you know. Do you have anything to clean with?”

Ist nods in absent apology. A discarded box of tissues from the corner later, and he is clean himself of what little spilled on him, and Gian’s gloves are left with a smear that will need to be washed out with water later. It looks like snot wiped off on something.

He settles into his seat once he’s tucked back in his pants. “Thank you for your assistance. I could not have had such a unique experience otherwise. We’re almost done, now.”

Gian grunts non-committedly. His hands are restless again, tapping on his thighs, moving up then back down. “Now it’s… my turn. Right?”

“Correct.”

The idea of being soon out of here must serve as an incentive. He reaches right for his fly and unzips himself to bring out his sex. Ist’s interest renews. Gian’s is heftier compared to his (or Raj’s, for that matter), and is either more erect or has a tighter foreskin. It has become nearly invisible behind the swollen glans. A drop is already forming at the tip.

“How does it feel?”

“Tingles,” he says shortly. “Because you drugged me.”

Ist leans closer. Should he keep his glove on? If Gian had taken his off he might return the gesture, but there’s no point in putting himself out there otherwise. Semen doesn’t seem hard to clean off.

His skin is a mystery with the barrier, though it can’t be much different from the skin of his own penis. Soft and movable, less so now. It is hotter than his; that much comes through, filling his palm with a curious heat when he grasps Gian (who flinches, noted but ignored) as he had him. Is that normal for him? Or is it part of being erect?

He strokes at a measured pace, slow enough he can take careful note of its increasing wetness, and the little details that make it ‘Gian’s penis’. He spots a few curls of dark red hair sprouting from inside the fly. He hadn’t considered pubic hair. Or testicles, though neither are strictly necessary for this exchange.

Eventually he looks up into his face. And since he’s looking away from him, eyes shut tight and all, he takes his fill. He sees the things related to this, the blush he’s never seen on his cheeks before, and the dewy sweat of his skin gentler than battle-sweat. And the things that have always been there. The short, jagged strokes of his eyelashes settling on the high curve of his cheekbones. The delicate set of his glasses frame on his proud nose and cheek.

It’s a handsome face, he supposes. Nicely-shaped. Quite aesthetic with the contrast of pale skin and the mane of red hair… and his eyes complementing his hair, like rubies.

“I’m…” Gian nearly covers his face with his hand before double-taking and using the corner of his elbow instead. His chest rises and falls in waves, though Ist doesn’t hear much of it beyond some muffled noise.

“Are you going to ejaculate?” he asks, returning his gaze downward. It’s so wet his glove is already going to need particular washing even without the actual orgasm. “I’m ready for it.” He grabs a few tissues, just in case. His own had something like puddled out of him, but Gian seems more affected so he’s not sure with what force it might spurt out.

‘Jet’ turns out to be a more apt descriptor. Only a few and the tissues are wet through the middle with gobs of it. Something that smells like cleaning agent arises from the mess. He hadn’t noticed Gian stopped breathing until he hears a whoosh of breath. 

Assuming again Gian is something like himself… he cleans the worst of it as best he can and disposes of everything he cleaned it up with. He can sympathize with the need for a moment of privacy after his own experience. When he returns Gian has emerged from the crook of his elbow and there is again no sign of skin below his scarf.

There is something defeated, almost _demure_ in his posture now. Their eyes meet only once before he turns away again, and as he does, something shines in them.

It makes his jaw ache. “Thank you again. I’m aware this was an inconvenience to you.”

“Hope you got what you wanted.” Even the inflection of his voice is different. Higher. Softer. Ist pauses, considering it and--what he wanted.

“At any point were you attracted to me?” Though he knows the answer even before the disgruntled noise he gets. It still needed asking. “I see. Then you may leave.”

He lays in bed after Gian’s silent departure, contemplating the disappointment of his experiment. Though he has now so far as he knows gone physically beyond anything Raj has done, he still feels behind him. His chest fills with a suffocating, cottony feeling. He can force his body into responding sexually but as he has now learned, sexual contact with another does not cause attraction. What does that mean for him and what he is?

Hours pass and despite the fatigue he bears on the inside, he can’t force himself to nap. He returns to his desk and switches his monitors on.

Like always, he skips between them all, Raj on every other view. Smiling and laughing between bites of food at a full table. The thoughtless rubbing of shoulders, forearms, legs. At some point he grabs the hand of one of his seat mates (Folth) and holds it even as he speaks to another. Is that attraction? Or normal friendly behavior? No one else seems to even notice.

The back of his throat tastes like wormwood.


	2. Folth/Gian

“Are you really alright, Gian?”

She’s been asking every so often since he returned. They’ve always been sensitive of each other; if she came back looking the way he imagines he did, he’d be demanding answers from someone. Enysha is too shy for that, thankfully.

He’s been sitting at the window since, watching the sky change colors in the steam off a cup of whatever Enysha laid down for him, and trying to sort out his insides. He’s still not sure what to make of what happened. There’s a part of him that wants to march back there and punch his face in, another that wants to forget the whole thing, and he’s squashed somewhere in the middle. Reduced again to helplessness in the wake of another’s touch. 

Though his grandfather had never done anything like _that_ before. Small mercy.

He can’t even be properly angry. He would have been when he first arrived here. They were all unknown to him, and mostly human. Nowadays he’s stopped bracing himself so much for every exchange of words, and he has unfortunately come to know them, Ist included. And with that knowledge… if he referred to that as just an ‘experiment’, then he feels reasonably sure in concluding that’s all it was to him. Not that that excuses his actions. But he can’t hate him. 

Ist has lived on this huge empty world almost entirely alone. Only recently has he needed to learn about dealing with others. He knows too well what that’s like. 

“I’m heading out, Enysha.” He stands and stretches out his joints. The coffee is still warm enough to be drinkable. It’s all the liquid courage he needs. She comes around back to him, concern evident on her face.

“Where are you going?”

“I just need to see someone for a little while. Don’t worry.”

They’ve all carved out some area for themselves. A room at the hospital, an abandoned house here or there, all obviously formed by opportunity and personalized with odds and ends. As large as it is inside here, you can wander a while without running into someone else. The only places he’s seen that resemble true homes are Amu’s and Raj’s. Even Ist’s ‘room’ comes off as abandoned. It was difficult to learn who kipped where at first, just to avoid them. But now he knows where to go if he’s trying to find someone in particular.

This late in the day Folth and Arca probably aren’t still working the cafe. Even if Folth is, he’s pretty obliging… for a human, anyway.

Its two proprietors are at the counter when he enters. Not busy. Perhaps they just finished, or are simply hanging around. Arca is speaking to Pomnit and her mistress on the stools. Folth stands behind the counter, listening to whatever the topic of conversation is, and has the room to smile and nod to him in acknowledgment of his entrance. Right before he looks away, Gian jerks his head sharply. Folth nods again, this time to the women, and slides easily around the furniture to meet him.

“Something wrong? You don’t usually come here.” He’s still smiling, but it drops a bit with his voice. “Enysha came here earlier.”

Maybe that’s where that drink came from. He had been too preoccupied to think about it. He can’t even recall the basic taste. “I’d hardly be here if I didn’t need to be.” His voice is likewise hushed. The women are looking now, probably wondering also what the matter is. Maybe he should stop by more often just to keep people from staring when he does. “I need to speak to you. Privately.”

“I see. I made my room from the break room. We can talk there.”

He follows reluctantly. Beyond today, he hasn’t been in anyone’s room that wasn’t his own or Enysha’s. The array of coffee, pastry, and tea smells he thinks of as generic cafe smell grows stronger and rawer down the hall, likely at the end of which where the supplies are kept. They enter a side door.

There are still obvious remnants of the room's original purpose, but the conversion overall isn't too bad. There's a single bed moved in from elsewhere, and a couch with a sitting table catty-corner to the cabinets and sink. A few potted plants and scattered shoes make it look more awkwardly lived-in. It seems like he should say something, but can’t think of what. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he says in measured formality, to fill the gap.

“Always happy to help. It was my job back in my world, you know.” 

They take their places, where they are most comfortable. Folth leans back against the arm of a chair, expression expectant. Gian remains by the door, after he’s sure it’s clicked shut. Even breathing deep doesn’t relieve this knot of anxiety in his gut.

“I understand that you’re the one who has known Ist the longest.”

Folth’s head tilts a little to the side. “That’s right. He’s been watching over Raj and Amu since they were born, but he never made contact with them back then.”

“So would you be the one I issue a complaint regarding his behavior to?”

The smile drops another notch. “What kind of complaint?”

Gian breathes deep in one last bout of mental preparation, and in one hard-edged listing of facts details the events of earlier in the day and the objectionable behavior he experienced. He thought Folth might leap to a defense, but he does not. He is quiet the entire time, and the slow widening of his eyes shows he is listening very well.

Eventually he comes to the end of the encounter, stopping as sharply as he started. When Folth breaks the silence with a solemn, “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” a hot lump rises in his chest for a moment. Imagine trusting a human to mean a statement like that! ...here, he does, a little.

“Is there anything you need?” he continues.

“I can endure whatever happens to me. And I am aware he did not _intend_ to do me harm. But if he tried an experiment like that on someone else… one of the children…”

“He’s not unreasonable. I’ll make it clear he can’t do things like that.” He hesitates, sitting up from the chair to clasp his hands together. “Do you want an apology?”

He waves it off. “I’d rather move on with my life. If you’ll speak to him, that’s all I need.”

“I see.” That smile returns, not so jovial as it usually is, but just as warm. “Just because you can bear a thing doesn’t mean you should, you know. I know no one here is trained for this exact type of situation, but there are people here you can talk to, if you don’t want to feel like you’re burdening a girl with it. But I don’t think it would scare her away, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Enysha is…” Too pure. Too good. “Sensitive. No good would come of it.”

Folth sighs, lightly exasperated, with the grin. “Then promise you’ll see _some_ one if you need to.”

“Hmph. You have it, though it’s not necessary.”

The next time they sortie for battle, Ist catches his eyes and does a motion so slight you can barely call it a nod. Even that is frankly more acknowledgment than he desires, but at least he can be rest assured it won’t happen to anyone else.

That should be the end of things. It should be, so then why… why won’t it leave his head? He’s lived his whole life with pain. A half-hour like that is nothing.

During the night he tosses and turns, fuming at his inability to just be. Was it something like that his mother experienced when his father violated her? Surely she hadn’t experienced the fleeting pleasure he did; the penetration that conceived him must have been far more painful than the touch of a hand. Can you even call it assault if pleasure arises? And while he’d been faced with something of an ultimatum, it was still ultimately his decision to stay.

That’s not what Folth said, he reminds himself. ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘Do you need anything?’ In no way had he suggested the situation was not what it was, or that he should have done something to avoid it. It is such a helpless thing to rely on a human’s word but the next night and the next and the next he naps uneasily and awakes for a moment a child again, in the dark, waiting for his grandfather’s own ‘experiments’ and needs any comfort to cling to.

He wishes he could leave his body entirely. His body shows no scars after it regenerates but he feels every mark red-raw and stinging and welted. ‘Have you done this before?’ indeed. He could never… even with himself… nevermind another.

He leaves bed finally for the living room, with some dim idea of a drink perhaps. His mother’s scarf is wrapped loosely over his shoulders, on top of his nightshirt. He doesn’t remember when he put it on. 

He doesn’t make it to his vaguely defined goal. Enysha comes to him from the door leading to her room. “You haven’t slept again.” She is so small next to him. She takes his hand in both of hers, and barely wraps around his palm. He wishes she wouldn’t, for her sake. “Please, Gian. Tell me what’s wrong. I want to protect you too. When I think of my father... I get so scared the same could happen to you.”

It’s not because she’s a woman. It’s because she’s her, specifically. She already knows various things about him, just as he does her, but this is a different matter than bonding over their shared orphanhood and Arozaid status. He does want to comfort her though. To give her some way of knowing it has nothing to do with his lack of trust in her. And that he's not going to just waste away. All he can think of is to touch her hair, and hope the gesture is rare enough she understands.

She leans her cheek into his hand… and for just a second, the fog in his mind clears. It’s a ridiculous idea, but the only one he has to go on now. “Enysha, I’m going to go out for a bit.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“If I wait until morning, I’ll lose my courage.” And what his idea entails seems more appropriate for night, anyway. “I think it may help. I’ll be back soon.”

Talk to someone, he said. I’m sorry. Do you need anything? He didn’t say any of the blame was his.

And Gian saw to the end of his grandfather with his own hands.

He dresses himself up properly and leaves, Enysha calling softly behind him. Please be safe, Gian.

The doors to the cafe aren’t closed. Anyone can go where they like, whenever they like. It still seems like an unsafe thing to do (he locks his own door) but at least now it’s convenient. The generic smell inside he noticed before lingers like a ghost. He remembers the way easily from here. Just a side door down the hall.

He knocks quietly. Please let it be enough to wake him. Better yet, let him be already awake. He wouldn't be surprised if Arca also made her bed here. He tries again, a smidge louder. "Folth?" No answer back.

The doorknob turns easily when he tries it. Hmph. So careless. He'll have to scold him for it after this meeting is over. There are some here, like Melgitos, that gangster, and the Demon Lord inside Hayato, who are bound to this group only by the desire to not die. Who knows what they might get up to.

He feels little apprehension walking in. If Folth was the sort of master swordsman who'd try to take his head off for approaching him in his sleep, it stands to reason he'd have woken up for a few knocks on the door. And if he had awakened, it'd be unlike him to not answer someone calling him.

There's barely even any moonlight coming in from the window but he can make out his shape easy enough. He tentatively whispers his name. Maybe now that he's in the room with him… no, still nothing. He crosses the makeshift bedroom to reach his bedside, now so close he can see the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. A hand dangles temptingly from beneath the bedspread. He takes it (carefully, with his fingers, so he's not really _holding_ it) and again, nothing. He squeezes with his fingerpads, again whispers his name. Nothing. He knew he had trouble waking up in the morning, but this is absurd.

“Folth, honestly…” He takes his shoulder this time, and gives him a bit of a shake. 

Folth rolls over, with a clumsy wave off. “Five more minutes, dad…”

“Wake up!”

Folth grumbles and turns back. He squints up at him, and Gian glares in turn. “Whassamatter? Dad?”

“Doubtful. It’s me, Gian. You told me... to speak with someone, if I needed to.”

That does the trick, finally. Folth rolls over again, onto his belly, but this time to stretch himself out like a lazy cat. His fingers spread like spreading paws. “Gian,” he says, barely coherently with sleep fuzz, “it’s the middle of the night.”

“It can’t wait. I am,” he draws himself up, proud and strong, like the following admission costs him nothing at all, “in need of help.”

“Is it about before?” He stretches back into child’s pose a moment before sitting up. The sight of his bare chest makes him uneasy again, slightly apprehensive--anticipatory? Focus on his lounge pants instead. “I’ll make us something to drink.”

“N-no.” If he has to contend with idle chit-chat, or wait in here any longer than he must, he’ll, well, vomit, from the feel of things in his stomach. “No, thank you. The sooner I can get this done with, the better I’ll feel.”

“Alright.” Folth eyes him with frank curiosity. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I want to share a sexual experience with you!”

In the long silence that follows, he ruminates on how his thought process went (for whatever little thinking he did) and starts to explain himself. Hopefully he doesn’t blush too much in the process. Essentially it followed that he had no choice but to become fixated on what occurred between him and Ist, because it was the only such experience he had ever had, coupled with his naturally---refined---disposition. With another, more pleasant experience, his mind would be relieved of the old event, and focus on the new one.

“Like re-writing trauma?” Folth asks at the end. The haziness in his eyes is, if he’s reading them right, more thoughtful than doubtful.

“I suppose it works out to something like that. Of course, I don’t want to place you in an unfortunate position, either.”

He nods. “If you don’t mind the help of another virgin, then I’ll do what I can.” His face lights up with his smile, more ineffable than ever. “I doubt I’ll be able to sweep you off your feet or anything.”

“That’s fine. That’s even preferable.” Bumbling together might end up awkward, but it’s better than if he was the only one left wrong-footed at every turn. “So, then…”

“If you only used your hands before, then we should go a _little_ farther, just to be sure. Right?”

“Ah, if you think that’s best.” He hadn’t thought about the specifics, only glossed over the whole idea in general as a ‘sexual experience’. Thinking about it, he supposes something like that could take a variety of forms. Even he knows that much. “But I don’t think I’m ready for… the whole thing.” Definitely blushing hard now. Good thing it’s dark.

“Me neither. But I think I can come up with something else.” He leans in close, and though he’s quite a bit smaller than Gian, it’s an intimidating thing. Something in his mind ‘clicks’ and sees him in a different way; Folth’s features that once had only made up one face among many now stand out along with the bewitching movement of his mouth. The soft curve of his nose and chin, his normally large and expressive eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep.

His heart thuds when he realizes what he’s feeling. How funny. The first time in his life he’s felt like this, it’s under these circumstances. And for a human man. Maybe he should tell Ist he indirectly caused him to feel what he himself could not. Speaking of which, he wonders if he’s watching right now. Best not worry about that. 

“What kind of mood do you want? Detached?” His head cocks to the side. “Or are we going to be boyfriends for a little while?”

Why did he have to ask him that? If he’d treated him like a lover without saying anything, he probably wouldn’t have minded. “I’ve no preference.”

“I’m more affectionate than not, I guess. I’ll do what comes naturally and you can tell me to scale it back if it’s too much. First though, I need to rinse my mouth out with something. I’ll make a cup for you too, if you trust me not to do anything with it.”

Gian nods. Trust him not to do what? Poison him? If Folth invited him he might be suspicious. As things stand, he doubts he has anything like that on mind.

He keeps his face straight ahead, trying not to watch the shiftings of Folth’s modest musculature when he turns to place his feet on the floor. For a moment as he leans forward, the knobs of his spine stand out in the full brightness of the moon, both lit and darkened in stark relief.

For a moment he is alone. This close to his bed it seems like he can smell him a bit too… urgh, don’t make it weird. These feelings are disconcerting enough. Is it ‘love’? An infatuation? Mere physical attraction brought on by the atmosphere and impending intimacy? How does one tell the difference? All he can do is get comfortable and see whether his feelings grow clearer to himself. He neatly folds his coat to place on the couch, with his scarf and gloves on top. Shoes go by the door.

Folth returns with two cups. Steam curls into the air. They sit together on the bed and sip. The coffee and cinnamon-speckled cream fills his hands and belly with spreading warmth. Until he came to this world, he didn’t know food and drink could comfort as well as nourish. 

“I’ve always liked looking at the night sky when I can’t sleep.”

He follows his gaze out the window. The sky gradients from blue to purple, with a milky splash of stars across it. The moon is fuller than he remembers ever seeing it before. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just like you.” Folth sets his cup aside. His tongue glimpses over his upper lip to lick off a spot of cream as he leans forward, before Gian can properly react to the compliment with anything but a flustered ‘what?’ “Can I kiss you?”

It’s hard to see warm colors in this cool night light, but he thinks the coloring on the tops of Folth’s cheeks is something more than shadows. Maybe it’s just from the coffee, but seeing it makes it easier to reply, “Yes.”

Their lips meet over Gian’s held mug. Just a press, then a slight turn for angling. It’s soft--softer than he would ever guess a man’s mouth to be, with a lingering wet heat. Something tugs his cup from his tensed fingers. He hears it clink on the bedside table. The tenseness in his body eases enough that he melts back against the headboard under the gentle persuasion of Folth’s leaning weight.

Even with their size difference having him on top of him almost scatters his nerves again. Their hands join in a loose clasp. Folth’s thumbs rob over his first knuckles. Even such a tiny touch electrifies his forearms with goosebumps. Almost unpleasant, like standing in a sun a touch too bright, or a wind a touch too chill. The press of their kiss deepens, enough that he can feel the form of his teeth behind his lips.

Folth parts to breathe and more firmly seat himself on Gian’s thigh. Something hard he tries not to think much about insists freely against his leg with only loose cotton to constrain it. It’s not difficult, with his face so close. He has come to admit the humans here may not be so bad, but these are the purest eyes he has seen on any of them. “You’re very forward, for a virgin.”

Folth turns his head to laugh. “I’ve thought about it. I know what to do in theory.”

“How much have you thought about it?”

He meant it as an incredulous question, but much to his (somewhat amused) confusion, Folth hides his face against his chest. His hands tighten down on his before releasing. “Turn over and I’ll show you how much.”

“That’s… too far, isn’t it?”

He laughs again, louder. “I’m not putting anything in you, I promise.”

“F-fine. If you promise.”

Folth kisses his forehead and backs away for him to rearrange himself. Not being able to see him is worse. There’s so many ways to betray his trust. 

The first touch in his hair makes him flinch. It pauses, then continues into a stroking motion, from the crown of his head down to where it reaches his mid-back. “Your pants and underwear have to come down, okay?”

“Folth--”

“No penetration. I promise. I just want to touch you.”

 _Please be kind_ he thinks, and uses his knees to pop his hips into the air for easier tugging. The relatively narrow band of bared flesh chills his entire body. The mattress shifts as Folth scoots closer between his legs. One hand comes up between his thighs and grasps his penis.

"Ah--" He bites the sound off as soon as it leaves his mouth. Now that he's in someone's grip, he can feel how erect he is himself.

"I thought your pants-bulge looked pretty big. You _feel_ big." He's using the same cheerful voice he does when talking about the last fish he caught, or how well someone did in the last battle. It's embarrassing, but mostly it makes him wonder what Folth looks like, that he thinks that. "You can lower yourself now---gently---on my arm, so you don't have to be so tensed up."

He lowers his butt back down until Folth’s hand is pinned lightly between the mattress and his body.

He proves his continuing mobility with a few more strokes along his shaft. Masturbation from behind, alright. He can handle this. It feels nice… he should say so, shouldn’t he? Something kind, just how he’s been with him. But he can’t pull off anything like that ‘just like you’ stunt. “Thank you,” he says, kind of lamely.

“My pleasure.” He cups his left buttock and squeezes it. “You have a nice butt, too. Small, but round and firm.” 

“Thank you…” He takes his glasses off and folds them one-handed so he can bury his face in his forearms. If he squeezes his eyes hard enough it doesn’t matter that he can’t see. A nice butt. He’s never thought about his rear for anything other than sitting on. 

Folth keeps squeezing. It starts to feel like a massage, a nice background accompaniment to the pleasure up front. Soon he’s barely thinking about the fact of his rear being manhandled and relaxes overall. He’s enjoying this. He thought he might, if he could climax under more dubious circumstances. The thought is still surprising.

“That’s nice.”

“Mh-hmm? I’m going to touch you a little more, okay?”

“Alright…” He tries not to react when his buttock is pulled to the side and something presses against his anus he never thought he’d feel there. His body tightens reflexively. It’s hot, and wet, but not as good as kissing had been, or his hand is. It’s definitely enough to be the something ‘extra’ though.

Like the squeezing, it grows more pleasant over time. It starts with loose circling around the rim in time with the lazy strokes of his penis. Then Folth puts his face into it, sucking hard until his body softens, and begins to drift. It’s a _subtle_ kind of pleasure, he decides. It catches up. And the looser his body grows the better it feels. He even likes the drool trickling down his perineum and collecting on the back of his testicles. His penis throbs in agreement in the slickening grip it’s in. The tempo there hasn’t changed much but between the sensations at both ends, his belly is warming up fine.

His breathing flows even and uninterrupted, if louder than usual. It only stutters when the possibility of orgasm becomes urgent. “Folth, I’m close. Your bedsheets.”

“Mhmmm,” Folth vibrates, practically into his anus. His arm manages a few inches higher so he can cup his glans with his palm and fingers. 

The message is clear--go ahead. That won’t hold it all, will it? ...well, it’s his laundry.

Gian bites into his knuckles to muffle a suspiciously moan-like sound as climax overwhelms his body. Fireworks play on the back of his eyelids as his legs stiffen and release in time with the pulses driving through his penis. As he thought, an overflowing wetness grows around his glans that adds a few scuzzy extra moments of excitement from ejaculating into his own ejaculate.

He props himself as little as he can with his trembling legs to allow Folth to extricate himself, then rolls over onto his back. He almost pokes himself in the eye putting his glasses back on. All of his business is showing but he’s too wiped at the moment to feel anything but a smidge of shyness. And he likes the shining way Folth looks him up, with his hand dripping with his mess. 

“That’s what you think about?” he says when he’s sure he won’t sound overly breathy. “I suppose it’s your imagination I should be thanking, then. I believe this will do the trick.”

“Glad to have the practice.” Folth sounds out of breath himself. The protrusion in his lounge pants has grown even more prominent.

Well, since he’s been so kind, maybe he deserves a reward. “Do you… need any help, there?”

“Huh? Oh.” He actually looks down at his groin. “If you don’t mind, you can stay like that. You look pretty wrecked.” 

Wrecked? As in, tired? Or ruined? He can see how he might fit either of those definitions; he certainly feels them. And does Folth want him still out of concern, or because he likes him looking this way? He’s unable right now to fully appreciate that prospect but it deepens his after-climax into a helpless languid state that borders on sensual. He stays as he is, pants and drawers lowered, legs parted to show his thighs and softening genitals, flushed and wet with come and sweat, another man’s drool pasted between his buttocks. That he is otherwise well-covered makes it a startling window into depravity. He can only imagine what his face looks like.

Folth takes his piece out of his pants and strokes himself using Gian’s come as lubricant. His hand works with a sense of purpose that Gian could not display with Ist, or Ist with him, the sureness likely brought on by having done this for the majority now of his life. It’s hard to see particulars, but Gian attempts to watch. So this is how Folth likes to touch himself. The brief clutch at the base, fingers gliding along the bottom of the shaft in a half-grip, cupping and rolling his palm over his glans similarly as he had done for Gian.

The entire time he looks him almost entirely in the eye. A quick glance down below, here and there, but otherwise he takes lazy satisfaction in his gaze, and how it eats him up like there is nothing else in the world at the moment to care about. For the first time he wonders what it would be like to take a man, or be taken by him. If Folth had possessed his body in that way, how much hotter would his eyes on him be while he’s full inside of his semen?

Folth gasps with sudden, explosive force, like a man coming up from water. His own come joins the stuff already glazed over his fingers as his body twitches through the last of its high. Slivers are made of his eyes, but they still maintain contact.

He gets up as soon as he’s fit to, presumably to wash off the mess. In a minute he returns spick-and-span with a moistened washcloth. “Should I? Or you?”

“I can tend to my own hygiene.”

It’s hard to leave. There’s no reason to stay now that he’s neat and has what he came for. Maybe he’s just sleepy after so many new experiences. If he stayed he knows he’d drift off to sleep within moments. Folth’s presence beside him is even more unfair. They aren’t cuddling, but it’s hard to avoid touching on such a small bed… and the touches he has glimpsed make him out to be warm, and softer than he seems.

“I have to go,” he says, when he gets to the point he knows he can’t trust his eyelids to open when they shut. “I told her I’d be back.”

“Mmm’kay.” His touch caresses over the back of his hand. “Glad to be your boyfriend. G’night.”

Out like a light. Gian furtively kisses his temple before leaving. The taste of his sweat imprints itself on his lips.

Enysha is still awake when he returns to the place they’ve made home for now. She meets him at the door, eyes huge and searching. “Did it… did it help?”

“I wonder if you can tell?”

She studies his face a little longer. “You look tired. Oh, Gian. I hope you haven’t been up to trouble again.”

He chuckles. “Do I look that way?”

“No, I suppose not.” Relief comes over her face like a wave. “Please tell me it’s over.”

“We’ll see. But I think so.”

One day, when he can make the whole thing into a funny story, maybe he’ll tell her all about it.


	3. Folth/Erst

There is one that Folth has always loved more than any other. More than family. More than friends, old and new. More than others he has also felt desire for. A love of many years, sustained in his own heart and thoughts; all that time the object of his love being missing, presumed perhaps… dead. Still he tended to it, unable to let the fruit rot.

To be able to see him again in this world is a miracle. To know he awaits him in the future of his own world---excitement nearly beyond containing.

As miraculous as it is to reunite with his childhood love (at a similar approximate age, to boot) that means nothing as to his feelings being returned. Even if they are, they will be forgotten when they return to their worlds.

His heart is that of an optimist, however. Even in the face of reality, he longs to express honestly what he feels. He cannot think the attempt useless, or that the experience would mean nothing, however short-lived. He knows in his heart of hearts he would still cherish it.

The recent events have also played their strings on him. Ist’s poorly-executed forays into his sexuality, the comfort Gian sought in him, and before either of those, the whirlwind of attraction and tentative feeling-out he has sensed around him. Fingertips meeting over coffee, eyes glancing, smiles a little too languid to be friendly. Something simmering like the air before a storm.

For a while now Raj has been bringing only men to battle with him. And he wonders.

A simpler way to look at it is that they are a great deal of young people, many teenagers, all attractive, all plopped down together in a world ripe with opportunity.

Some of that tension he has sensed---or believes very hopefully he sensed---between Erst and himself. It’s fertilizer for the love he’s been tending.

His encounter some nights past with Gian was sweet, but too spur-of-the-moment for how he’d like to reveal his feelings. Erst deserves… deserves everything, though all the ‘everything’ he’s able to afford in this case is merely the blind guessings of an inexperienced romantic. 

It’s time to try to pluck it.

He has gone down the road many times by now to see him but today the evening sky looks richer, thicker, almost like a tangible shawl pulled over this inside-realm. In his anxious delight all colors are magnified this way; the ocean bluer and foamier, the grass _literally_ greener. Even the somber birdsong stands out as notes of music instead of whistling noises. The thought of what he will say, and how, and when, is sweet torture.

Erst's quarters are still in the hospital he was brought to, a place he refers to with increasing disdain as _the_ room, rather than 'my room'. His recent resolve to fight along with the rest of them does not change the delicate balance of his health after battling a Nether infection for so long, so here he will probably stay for still a while longer, if not the entirety of his stay in this world. Folth has considered giving him a friendly, purely platonic offer to room in with him, but if this goes well maybe they can 'live' live together.

He has never minded hospitals much, but he sees how seeing white tile and beige carpets every day would get depressing, especially when you've spent at least a month not allowed to move any faster or vigorously than a turtle does. Kunon means well, and they'd all be in hot water without her, but she's definitely a stickler for patient care.

He knocks firmly on the door to his room. It’s true he has little experience with dating or sex, preferring his work and studies in general, besides his harbored love. But Gian has been doing something endearing lately when he tries to approach him without any actual business; coming up near him almost timidly, when he is otherwise occupied, then backing away again, like a child too shy to give a gift to their teacher. But he suspects the only reason he finds it endearing is because there may be a crush in the works after their recent dealing. Otherwise he might find it intimidating, or at least odd.

Folth is not particularly disposed to being timid, but it reminds him to be confident.

“Come in.”

The voice is wan, disinterested, but putting on a brave front of good cheer. Even this lightens his heart---with a tender sort of pity, too, yes, but mostly burgeoning love. When he enters Erst is sitting cross-legged on his bed, with a book open in his lap. “Am I bothering you?”

“Nah.” Is it flattering himself to think his eyes light up, even just a bit? “I’ve just been reading from Raj’s extensive, laxly categorized collection.”

‘Laxly’ is a generous word for it. He chuckles, and tries to remember what ‘casual’ feels like when he walks over. Confident, but not assuming. It’s not something that works out when you overthink but he has to concentrate just to hear with his heart beating in his ears. “Anything good?”

“Mostly fiction.” Erst lowers his eyes, revealing the delicate seam of his eyelid. The shade of his eyelashes over his irises blurs their color into almost gold. “Mysteries, suspense, the occasional… romance. Alright for passing the time. Textbooks and the like are more interesting, especially if it’s from a different time than ours, but those seem to be rare by comparison.”

“What kind of romance? Historical or young adult?” The question is a genuine, friendly tease.

“Oh, you know. Attractive woman with poor self-esteem in the terrible position of bedding two men she can’t choose between for over twenty books.”

“I see.” He tries not to linger over the idea of Erst reading sex scenes. It’s the sort of thing that would have absolutely mortified him as a kid, and still does a bit, even though they’re both adult men. It’s like thinking of his dad reading… wait. Don’t make that comparison. “Well… would you like to take a walk with me? Unless you prefer your erotica.”

“No, thanks. Some fresh air without a battle to the death sounds nice.” He closes his book with a sigh. “And some company that isn’t fussing over me. When I walk by myself I feel like I’m just going in circles.”

“Have you had a proper tour yet?”

“I think I saw pretty much everything on my own,” Erst says, in a hesitant tone Folth recognizes. His little brother used to do the same thing, what seems like once upon a time, when he didn’t want to seem too eager to play a game or join in on something, and so wanted coaxing. “I was ill for so long. By the time I could move around and got to fight...”

“No one thought of you as ‘new’ still.” He has his own fault in that. Poor Erst! “Well, we can make up for that.”

They make a proper go of it this time. This time, Erst won’t feel neglected.

Folth pays him every attention through every locale, and reintroduces him to everyone they come across. He guides him through the entirety of the pirate ship, all the nooks of the floating isles about them, and down the beach to the pier to look at the stars twinkling on the ocean.

“Want to eat at my place? All I can make there is cafe food and tea, but...”

“I’m always happy to eat your cooking.”

What kind of food did Erst like to eat when he was little? As many times as he’s imagined making his first dinner for him, he’s never been able to remember him evincing any sort of preference. So often he’d stare out his window to the moon with a daydreaming parade of the feasts he’d make, potatoes buttered and mashed, honeyed ham, turkeys stuffed, gelatin and fruit… and that would just be for the surprise dinner where he revealed his feelings. Afterwards he’d learn and make whatever Erst liked.

Night has always been the most relaxing time of day for him. He’s directed so many of his fantasies to the moon he’s glad it can’t speak to anyone.

What he makes tonight are watercress sandwiches, with butter, sea salt, and black pepper, with a slice of blackberry lavender cake, and a teapot of bergamot. Homey, not exactly romantic. That they are eating in near-dark is the only mark of that kind of atmosphere. Otherwise Erst compliments his cooking and they chat in quiet voices, in case Arca has gone to bed already.

Folth does feel a mild satisfaction as he watches Erst eat food made by his own hand. It’s the same way he felt In his time as a barista. Something about others enjoying and being soothed by what he made expressly for them, a dash of pride mixed with the warm fuzzies.

Underneath, this time, is an emotion more unsettled.

This is the perfect moment to try. To receive an answer. Isn’t he going to?

The urge to say nothing is just as overpoweringly strong. He’d never have any possibility of validation that way, but he could keep dreaming.

But he has spent years already in waiting.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, too suddenly, as soon as he decides he must. He should have led up to it more. Brought out a bottle of wine, made an offering of flowers. He doesn’t think gestures like that particularly suit Erst, but it’s the done thing.

“I know,” Erst replies. The sad look on his face is not hopeful for his feelings. “Everything today... I know. It’s been a lot of fun.”

He tries to smile anyway, through the crushing-in of everything in his chest. “So, then... it’s no good for you?”

“What it is, is,” his fingers play along the gilted silver of his fork, “inappropriate. At least, that’s what I’m supposed to say.”

“Supposed to?” Folth’s heart rises in a sickly mess of hope and fear that makes him feel even worse.

“Even if it was Arca, and not you... there’s a ‘me’ that exists in your world too, isn’t there? A ‘me’ that knew you since you were a child. It seems wrong to say that gradually, I, too...”

He reaches for his restless hands and squeezes them in his. “You know I’m old enough to drink now, right?”

Erst chuckles mirthlessly. “Would the Erst you knew care about that?”

“You’re not that Erst, either way.”

“I’m not the Erst you knew, either.”

But all that changed between their worlds then was the sex of the infant born to his parents, whether the best friend of one Ghift Brattern was a boy named Folth or a girl named Arca. The summoner he admired so deeply would be the same.

“Your hands feel the same.” He tightens his grip for emphasis. “We’d hold them walking to my house. Warm. Hard knuckles.”

“I remember Arca’s... well, at that age, yours probably were exactly the same.”

When he looks into his eyes he sees the ‘almost’ there. Wanting. Reciprocating. Is it ethical to keep trying to convince him? Does he want to be convinced? A little more... a little more and he’ll let the situation settle. “I’ve always loved you. I’m sure she feels the same. But it’s me, the one confessing to you, me... the one you love back. You couldn’t feel the same for the little girl you used to know even if you tried, right?” It feels uncomfortably close to throwing her under the bus, but ideally she’ll never know the particulars of this conversation.

“The body revolts at the thought,” Erst mumbles. His hands turn so they grip Folth’s in return. “You must be nearly my age by now.”

“Highly legal,” Folth lightly reminds. The only response he gets is a one-sided grin. “If you need time to think more, that’s alright.”

A part of him must have been hoping he’d decline the offer. Of course he meant what he said, but he has to keep himself from grabbing back on when Erst slowly withdraws himself from him.

They do not speak about it for the next few days as, he presumes, Erst gathers his thoughts without entirely rejecting him. What does he know of seduction to persuade him in the meanwhile? Next to nothing; nothing he’d feel not-creepy actually doing. The most he does is privately acquire a bottle of red wine, to, depending on the circumstances, use to celebrate or drown his sorrows with.

And a furtive squeeze of his hands, following the end of one battle. Erst glances back sidelong, and returns the pressure.

Maybe it was just a supportive gesture. But from that moment, he knows in his gut it’s just a matter of time and patience. In his focus on Erst’s attentions, it does not occur to him that he has become myopic until he’s cornered in the cafe afterhours by Gian and his own blossoming affections.

“I have grown to be rather fond... by which, I mean...” It’s cute, his voice still attempting severity and clashing with his red-tinted cheeks.

“I know, Gian,” he gently interrupts, and understands how Erst felt with him. It’s not a bad sensation; it is warm, and kind, full of sympathy.

“Do you?” The question is too weak to be misconstrued as any sort of ‘oh _do_ you now’; it is obviously meant to be ‘please tell me you do’.

He’s not certain how to act most kindly, however much the desire to be so is lighting up his insides. “I wouldn’t mind giving ‘us’ a try. I like you too! But right now I’m waiting for an answer from someone else.”

“I-I see.” He rubs tiredly at his eyes beneath the frame of his glasses, but there’s no wetness to them. He smiles a little, tight, like he’s trying to keep it contained. “You like me?”

“Of course.” He tries his hand at a little teasing humor-- “we were boyfriends, after all” -- and is rewarded when Gian looks both embarrassed and pleased.

His feelings for Erst are obviously a great deal stronger, but if he could have them both… why not? Gian is very attractive too in his own way, and they’ve already experienced some physical compatibility. Nor is he the only one. Of all their male companions he has wondered ‘what if’ at some point, either while cooking and in a domestic mood, or just to soothe himself to sleep on nights when his bed was too big for just himself. Yes, he’s sure thought some thoughts. They’ve come in handy just recently, and hopefully they will again very soon.

Three days pass. His internal weather changes by the hour. Calm and accepting of any possibility or storming with anxiety, are the two main moods. If he _is_ rejected, he knows he can overcome it. It’s waiting for the drop that’s hard. And knowing that Gian is waiting too.

On the sixth day from Folth’s confession they spend the majority of the day fighting through the Endless Domain. In the late evening they walk back together, Folth and Erst, to the cafe.

“Have you had any previous relationships?” Erst asks, in the last step, perhaps, of becoming comfortable.

“I’ve had a one-time encounter with another man. That’s all. You?”

“You’re more experienced than me, then. I’m glad to hear that, actually… I was always too afraid to get close in that way.”

Folth absorbs this in silence. Out of caution or mistrust (though it pains him to think of Erst as ‘mistrustful’) his childhood idol is completely untouched. He’s not really sure what he expected. Even as he hoped otherwise, he knew Erst was always popular and that popular people have no trouble getting romantic attention and dates. Erst had never spoken to him of finding love at Savorle, but he might not have deemed that necessary to talk to a kid about. He has a hard time imagining him sleeping with someone, too.

Their shoulders are near-touching, warming the space between them in the otherwise cool air.

Folth makes a lighter dinner than last time. His stomach is too unsettled for food but it’s been such a busy day he needs to intake something. Just the smell of the alcohol sends him into a half-swoon.

He can barely taste the sandwiches but the wine fills his mouth in a fruity bouquet so dry it sucks in the insides of his cheeks. He’s not new to alcohol but it always makes his face twinge before he gets buzzed. Erst drinks his glass in one smooth tilt-back.

It occurs to him that for all his using the idea of alcohol in the process of seduction, it was never really more than a symbol of what it was he intended to do. Erst actually drinking didn’t cross his mind. “Do you drink often?” he asks, around his too-thick tongue.

“Every now and again. When I had a day off, the night before I’d pick up a bottle and...” He pauses, and laughs at whatever it is he sees on Folth’s face (mildly scandalized horror, he thinks is what it feels like). “Does that surprise you?”

“I guess you didn’t seem… was that your only, um, substance? Wine?”

“Yeah. Me and hard liquor don’t get along that well. My first year away from home was the first time I was able to do a lot of typical teenage stuff. I smoked once---and hated it---and tried a little grass---”

“Erst!” He doesn’t just look it this time, he _is_ scandalized. Not seriously, and not without a bit of humor, but he had a hard enough time picturing him with a lover. The idea of recreational drug usage never even crossed his mind.

“Only once. I was a good student. With the kind of employment I was looking for I couldn’t get caught doing anything questionable, or give anyone any reason to look into me.”

He pours himself another glass, a polite quarter of the cup, then downs it again. The apple in his throat pulses with each swallow against the collar of his tunic. His cheeks this time are left in a healthy glow of color but nothing else in the rest of his expression suggests he is strongly affected. “We should move to your room, before Arca gets back.”

Not a rejection, then. Can’t be. Despite the moment of weirdness his heart is really such a simple thing; it senses reciprocation and cannot help but lift. He sets their dishes in the sink with hot water and scribbles out an apology, with a promise to finish them in the morning.

This sight, of Erst not only being in his room but sitting on his bed like he belongs on it, is one he has mentally cherished and built-up for ages. The fantasies of _what_ he’d do have never seemed further, however, even though his whole body is itching with the desire to pin him down and try as hard as he can to merge flesh.

They maintain eye contact as Folth approaches, until he is on his knees before him. As a child he once sat the same way in rapt attention as Erst regaled him with some tale. “I love you,” he says once again, to hear it out loud and because it seems the most suitable thing to say before this long-awaited intimacy.

“I love you too.” He leans forward until their foreheads touch and his breath softly touches his lips like a mist. “So I want to be sure you love the real me, instead of the image you made of me.”

“Smoking doesn’t make you a different person,” Folth replies, but he knows what he really means.

As a child he sometimes marveled in his bed at night that Erst might have a favorite food, or that he ever got tired or angry. Some of it was probably because out of any given day, he might see Erst for all of an hour---more often a few minutes. It allowed him to easily able to build up his mental shrine to him without being held back by anything inconvenient. While he knew Erst was human it also seemed to him that Erst could not have human needs. It boggled his mind just to think of him getting up in the morning, grumbly, stretching out the kinks.

“That’s not exactly what I mean, though I guess it’s part of it.” He kisses him, just a soft press of mouths that Folth doesn’t have the presence of mind to return before he’s moving on, kissing his cheek, the tip of his nose, eyelid, forehead, the inward curve between his lower lip and chin, murmuring between each one, ‘I’m a pessimist’, and ‘I’m selfish’, and a dozen other faults he has, or believes he has.

As a child he undoubtedly wasn’t able to see Erst as he is---but even now he sees little evidence of those traits. It is as though he has taken a thought or two he’s had, thoughts everyone has at some point, and taken them on his shoulders. Even if they truly exist, the fact Folth has noticed nothing suggests virtues, too. Consideration, patience, a heart full of love.

“I’ll know you the more I’m with you,” he says, so it doesn’t just sound like he’s brushing off his concerns. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need hero worship to love you.”

“I want to know you, too… for as long as we have together.”

Their lips meet again, hard enough to push open. The tips of their tongues touch. A current of such excitement goes through Folth that his hands convulsively close and tighten on Erst’s thigh. His saliva is sweet and heavy with wine. He backs up not for breath but out of a genuine fear he might come in his pants. Every inch of his skin is alive and aware.

“Folth?” In the dim light his eyes look grey, like his brother’s. They look like a rim of moon around his widening inky-black pupils, and the glimmers of light within, stars. “Alright?”

“Yeah, I just---can I---um, oral sex! To start.” Not smooth. So not smooth. He should have just started unbuttoning. Or not say something so clinical as ‘oral sex’.

Erst looks abashed for a moment, then smiles. “On me or you?”

Come on, keep it together. He could do it for Gian, no reason beyond his own feelings why he can’t do it here. “You. If it’s okay.” He’s already on his knees.

Erst whistles once, very lowly, and starts his hands toward his fly. “Do you… do you want to do this part, too?”

He nods, very cool-like, and scoots in closer into the vee of his legs. His hands shake noticeably to the eye as they push up the hem of his tunic in the way to reveal a noticeable, heart-pounding-so-hard-it’s-ringing-in-his-ears bulge; it takes all he has to not just stop and stare. Get to work. Carefully. Can’t have anything going wrong at this stage. The top button pops easily but the little tongue of metal slips out of his sweaty fingers for a few pulls until it makes the journey over the hill, revealing more cloth beneath.

Erst murmurs his name and nothing else.

Dark blue, grey waistband. He pulls it down with one hand and reaches in with the other. Soft hair brushes his knuckles. Then, in his hand---he hears a gasp from above him---enough stiff meat to circle his fingers around.

It’s hard to breathe while looking at it. So long he’s dreamed of this moment, wanting, waiting, and he’s finally skin-to-skin with it. It is just so solid and _real_ in his hands. Easy on the eyes, too, even roseate in color and smooth except where a few veins are raised. The glans is bigger than the width of the shift, but not awkwardly so. Still dry.

“It’s beautiful,” jerks its way out of his stunned mouth.

“Folth.” Erst’s face is obviously reddened even in the low light. He touches Folth’s cheek in a gentle rubbing gesture. “Take your time.”

How did he always imagine doing this? Just lick… to start with, so he can feel out every inch of him. The curve of the glans up to the meatus, where he delicately digs his tongue in (Erst grunts, and his hand slides down to his shoulder) until he starts to taste something beside his own spit. Erst’s pre-come has a very faint, bitter taste. As he’d grown up, his weird ideas about the possibilities of Erst had likewise expanded; from his favorite food, to something like this. He’s happy to know it, and hopes to have an answer for many more of his imaginings. The feel and taste and scent of him everywhere… unique to him. 

He suckles down the most prominent vein, on the shaft’s underside, until he is nestled at the base with his testicles against his cheek. The smell is musky with a touch of sweat, the smell of not just Erst’s body heat but his _cock_ , his dick, his sex in its entirety. He breathes it in deep and keeps licking as close to the root as he can get then continues down to the balls. The skin slides here more under his tongue and there’s more of the scent too. Musky, bitter, but still that touch of sweet that keeps him breathing it in happily.

“Do you need my things down?” Erst whispers. 

Folth nods silently and as Erst lifts his butt off the bed, he reaches under him and pulls his pants and underwear down to his thigh.

“You’re so beautiful.” Erst laughs in a shy, helpless way, but it’s true. Not just his dick, but the perfect weight of his balls in his hand, the heat, and the stretch of the skin, loose then tightening over the scrotum. Even the hair on his mound is electrifying. A naturally neat bush of dark brown soft curls, that seems to bristle slightly at his touch. “I can’t believe I’m finally doing this.”

“Is it really…? I mean, touching me…”

“If it makes you feel better, you can touch me right after.”

Erst hems over this for a moment, pressing his thumbs into Folth’s shoulder in an absent-minded massaging motion. “I wouldn’t… mind, if you don’t.”

“That’s the only thing that could possibly make me happier.”

Ahh, the moment that comes it’ll be hard for him not to come straight away.

He suckles his way back up to the tip and this time, when his tongue swipes into the cleft of the glans, the taste of his pre-come is much stronger. It fills his mouth with the taste of him, bitter but now, with more to sample from, a faint touch of sweet. How much can he suck out? How much until Erst just spurts in his mouth? He’s tried some of his own before, more curious than horny to do it, and it had seemed to him a thing fraught with meaning and sensation then. It wasn’t something good boys do; that alone made it exciting. Like other things it wasn’t something he could picture Erst doing, but Erst is still a male. His body still produces semen. It must taste something like his own, with a similar texture, but creamier, thicker, sweeter—in his mind the taste of Erst’s come turned at some point into a nectar.

In his fantasies he’s always been able to do whatever he likes with his dick. He has no idea how to deep-throat, but it always happens smoothly in his mind. Taking back some distance to eye it, he wonders if somehow he hadn’t underestimated the size, even though he has a dick of his own? Just looking at the shaft makes his throat feel like a pinhole.

He wraps his lips around the head and sucks dreamily. In daycare he had a short career as a thumbsucker that he grew out of when mom made him wear mittens to school. The other kids either didn’t care or weren’t able to figure out why he wore them, but his own shame about standing out and possibly being teased made him stop, more than not being able to indulge. He’s never gone back but he remembers what the allure had been, the way it made him feel. Calm, sleepy. He’s getting the same sensation now. Pre-come flows over the back of his tongue, into the back of his throat. He can’t taste it there but his throat is thicker, wetter. Oh, Erst is lubing his throat, getting him ready for him.

Erst’s grip on his shoulder deepens. He says his name again, a little louder, not quite ending in a groan. Amazing. Erst’s voice thick with want is so amazing it makes his brain melt. Another surge of pleasure rips through his groin and he thinks _gonna come in my pants_ before distracting himself. This is already worthwhile but he wants to get all he can out of this first encounter. His cheeks flush with a number of emotions and exertion the more he pushes himself forward. The glans bumps against the automatic squeezing of his gag reflex, the shaft making his mouth the fullest it has ever been, and the more he sucks the fuller it grows… all he can get is that initial push, then his own throat rejects it, regardless of how badly he wants, _needs_ it go down---

he feels his hair being patted, and blinks the start of tears from his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s great just like this.” Erst speaks in a low, uneven whisper. Folth has felt his hand like this before… rubbing his head, tousling his hair, in affectionate greeting or parting. It’s a weird thing to think about with his dick in his mouth.

When he pulls it out at least it looks sexier than it did. It’s gleaming-wet to about halfway down the shaft, stiffer and redder than before the extremely mediocre oral job. “Sorry, I just thought I could do… more.”

Erst makes a hissy sound between his teeth that sounds like laughter. “This is my first time getting a blowjob, Folth. I’m not going to complain if you can’t get me down your throat. We have time to practice at that. If you want.”

“Y-yes! I want to.” Early in the morning, before going to bed at night… rrrgh! He’ll have Erst’s cock in his mouth every second of the day that he can to learn how to deep-throat him! “I want to make you feel as good as I can!”

“We can do whatever you want. And while you’re trying, um… those sounds you make are pretty nice, too.” His cheeks flush from pink to red. Folth waits for clarification on _what_ noises until he realizes he meant the sound of his working gag reflex and whatever sputtering it had caused. Ahhhh, he didn’t even realize he was making noise! And Erst thought that was hot!? If Erst was gagging on him… well, he supposes he’d have to actually hear it to be sure, but the idea just makes him concerned. “I’m pretty hot and bothered already. Why don’t I return the favor?”

“Huh?” As tempting as getting touched is, his erection is throbbing in an urgent way that signifies he’s too excited to last long. He doesn’t want Erst to get the wrong idea if he comes immediately. Maybe he could turn it around into a compliment? ‘You’re so sexy I prematurely ejaculated.’ Yeesh. “Don’t you want to finish first?”

Erst glances to the side. “I’d like to play around with you as long as I can. I think I could probably go another round, the way I feel, but it’s not like I can say for sure. So…”

“...okay.” He’ll risk feeling impotent later. For Erst.

“If you can help me with the rest of my clothes first…”

Folth nods eagerly. Nooo problem at all. His greaves first, carefully set aside so they don’t clank all over the floor, then the trousers underneath with the underwear, and now Erst is sitting on his bed in his just his shirt and coat (not a bad look). He looks ready to be finished making love to. Does it make Folth selfish if he pretends that? They’re not going to switch. He’s taking this coat off, gently pulling his shirt up, so he can lay him on the bed and try out all the dirty thoughts he’s ever had at his leisure.

Then Erst is fingering the collar of his jacket, pulling every few seconds in a teasing way that makes his heart rate spike. Erst must have worn this uniform at some point. He’d know exactly how to tear it off him if he wanted to.

“I only remember going home for the holidays and breaks. I never wore this around you, did I?”

“No, sir,” he answers, then bites his lower lip. That title had come out of some hole in memory, between thinking of Erst as a Summoner and himself as a child. Erst’s smile sharpens into a grin; for a moment he resembles the cocksure young man Folth had known his early childhood.

“Maybe later I can wear this, so you see. I don’t think our sizes are far apart.” His slow movements harden with uncertainty as he undoes the front of his jacket. There’s still his dress shirt on underneath but he still feels suitably bared, and like he wants to press his chest to his, rock against him. “I’d like to see you later, too. Without your jacket but otherwise dressed, sleeves rolled-up to your elbows. I bet you have nice, strong forearms.”

Folth shivers at the thought of putting on a show, even… especially?… in regular clothing. “I’d wear lingerie if you ask me to.”

“Might take you up on that.” His knuckles press minutely into his chest as he unbuttons the front of his shirt. “You can wear one of my nightshirts too.”

Like he was his boyfriend, his boyfriend for real! Imagine strutting out to the kitchen early in the morning before the cafe opens, in a shirt that could pass for his own, except for the smell—he’d know by the smell it wasn’t his, no matter how good a fit it was. “Erst… if you wear my uniform…”

“People will talk.” The grin slips. “They’ll guess. About me and you.” 

“I don’t mind if they know. I _hope_ they know—that we belong together.” He shrugs off his jacket, dress shirt. “We can keep it secret if you want. But I don’t think anyone’s going to accuse you of robbing the cradle.”

“Even if you’re right, I—let me look at you.”

To Folth’s amusement Erst takes one of his arms and feels up the fore of it between fingers and palm. He’s never paid particular attention to his forearms, and on the whole he’s disinterested in building muscle just to build it. They’re ordinary for an active male, he imagines. But Erst’s lips are pursed like it’s very interesting indeed, and his fingers follow the shallow groove under his elbow leading up to his wrist with deference. Their eyes meet. His look even more starry than before, and the color—Folth decides they’re a lighter grey in this light than Ghift’s. The brandy-brown almost comes through.

They kiss lightly. Look at the rest of me, too, see what a man I am? My shoulders and biceps? My chest, my collarbone, my hipbones? Again, soft. The thought of coming in his pants from a kiss makes him shudder with excitement and horror. So soft, and again he feels his tongue wet on his lip, the slightly bitter taste---

He pulls away and redirects his face against Erst’s chest. “Erst, I want…”

“Yeah?”

“It hurts. Between my legs.”

He doesn’t hear him laughing but he feels the little puffs of breath against his hair.

“Why don’t you get on the bed with me?”

His bed? Their bed, now. Surely he’s going to stay the night. He can’t leave after… what all might happen tonight. Can’t leave him alone. He lays down where he usually does, but slightly out of place, the way he had felt a little out of place when Gian was here. It’s weird how the addition of another person makes a place that has become familiar to him alien. He wonders if the effect would be heightened or lessened in a place like his room at Savorle, where he has been for years.

Erst’s gaze is embarrassingly direct. On the crotch of his slacks. “You’re… excited.”

“Y-yeah. Of course. I’m with you, after all.” It’s not like he lied. It does ache. Looking down too, it does make for quite the protuberance. “You really are beautiful, Erst.”

“Geez… you’re not bad either, you know?” Erst looks embarrassed himself for a moment, but he crawls over him like a million wet dreams he’s had before. “Did you think a lot about us doing this sort of thing?”

“Yes…” Given how antsy he’s been about their arguable age difference Folth isn’t sure he should bring up the rest—not yet, at least. That he’s thought about him since he was a child, that he filled all of his fevered boyhood daydreams about what sex might be like.

“What did you think about me doing?”

“Um. Um, you can just do whatever you want.” It’s pretty much guaranteed he’ll get off whatever he does, so no biggie. 

“Come on, that’s not an answer.” He comes up closer, until his knees are on the outside of Folth’s hips, hands spread-fingered right under his armpits. His smile is a strange, sardonic thing, too confident for the way he has seemed lately, too self-aware for the man Folth had known a decade ago. “What gets you hot thinking about me doing?”

“M… my…”

For an instant his lashes lower as he eyes him, from belly to adam’s apple. “Your?”

If Folth just blurts it out he won’t have to think or process it. “Wrists. Hold them down.” He lifts them above his head in offering before he can think about _that_ either. Erst pins them and immediately he feels enclosed, basketed within himself and Erst’s body. His eyes squeeze shut with a responsive smile. It isn’t like being trapped, nothing that makes him scared. It’s like being protected. At least for him, it goes perfectly with an erotic mood like this. “Erst..."

He kisses his forehead, then his temples, just as caressingly as he had before. His breath tingles his ear right before he kisses there too and—Folth giggles and forces himself not to wiggle. A hot, wet tongue presses flat into the hole leading to his ear drum. Again, even deeper, he can just _hear_ the wet slimy feeling like a slug in his ear, and he has to squirm. When Erst leaves it alone and kisses down his cheek to the jaw, his ear still buzzes, cool and vulnerable in the air.

“Haah—”

His teeth press just enough to make their presence known against the side of his neck. Too light to even hicky. Oh, his hicky… Folth would love to wear the marks of his teeth on him, to show in public. Thinking of their friends looking at him and wondering ‘who?’ gets him even stiffer, achier in his pants, which he hadn’t thought possible. 

Erst collects both of his wrists in one hand, and reaches between his legs with the other, palming then tracing the shape of his cock. The warmth of his skin comes through even past the material. It’s good, so good… just the weight of his gaze, his lips, is enough to drive him to the edge, now this…

“You’re pushing up against me,” Erst says in a small, mild voice. “I can take your pants off, right?”

“Yess…”

He can barely watch as it happens but he has to see. His slacks sliding right on down, revealing his even more obvious excitement rising against his underwear. “Erst, I think I’m gonna… pop when you touch me.”

“Do you want to try to get it up again? Or is there someplace else I should touch?”

It’s kind of embarrassing, but… “The first time… the first time I come, can it be during sex?” That’s always been the highlight of his best fantasies. A night of gentle teasing (though he unfortunately doesn’t have the stamina he hoped for) before actually becoming one, leading to his first climax with someone else. Even with Gian, he had technically orgasmed by masturbating. It’s a little romantic, a little naive. But if he can have it that way, he’d like to.

Erst looks a tad unsettled, as he thought he might. A little surprised, a little off-balance. Not aroused further. “A-already?”

“Please? I know it’s sudden...”And if he’s felt this good so far, he can barely imagine what it would be like to actually take something besides his fingers inside of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I want it really bad.”

"I thought we were doing this my way. Just can't wait, huh?" That at least makes him smile again.

“Nooo… I want you to, to---”

“To?”

“Fuck me,” he blurts, before he can get all stressed thinking about it. “I have some oil, in my bedside table.”

His eyebrows lift. “Still touching yourself here?”

Folth nods. Of course he’d been doing it to thoughts of Erst previously, but seeing him here in this place lit a fire in him like nothing else. “I didn’t just get to see you again. We were fighting side by side. And seeing you fight…”

“Ohoh. That turns you on, too?” He touches him just below the bulge of his cock, his very innermost thigh where it tickles so tantalizingly close to where Folth really wants it, so close his back arches a little with eagerness. “If I was a frontline fighter, I’d understand. But I’m not much for that.”

“Watching you obliterate things with magic is very stimulating! The musket is nice, too.”

Erst laughs, for a moment unguardedly loud before he hushes it between his teeth, cheerful like he hasn’t been since he’s been here. “I’ll see how Raj feels about me gunning more, then. You’re not bad at obliterating either, magic or blade.”

Folth warms with his praise—Erst watches him fight! He thinks he’s good at it! Maybe he likes watching him too!—and watches the kerfluffling over the side of the bed, into his drawers. It’s not like he has a whole lot here, yet and probably ever. Knick-knacks, and what he jerks off with when his mind is active at night.

Erst brings out finally a very plain, nondescript bottle. “This?”

“Yes.” Not ideal, but he couldn’t count on an actual bottle of lube falling out of the sky in this world. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t be able to grab it unnoticed. “It works with my fingers, at least.”

He looks apprehensively between him and the bottle. “Are you used to doing it like that? If you’re so close, can you handle me touching you?”

“Pretty used to it.” As much as the thought of Erst finger-fucking him makes his heart throb… “So I’m sure it’ll be fine if you just put it in. I mean, slowly, of course.”

The bottle is put to the side. And now, his underwear… oh boy. “These have to come off now,” Erst says, pointing, more asking for permission with his tone of voice than stating. Folth nods.

They come off gently, and not too embarrassingly. Erst looks into his eyes as he does it; only when they are off does he look down. How does it seem to him? He doesn’t think it’s quite as big, nor so handsome but he hopes its form, the shaft more curving upwards, is eye-catching. “Wow. This is my first time really seeing another man. You said you’d been with someone else?”

“Yeah. Not all the way, and not much from the front.” He’d known Gian more by feel than sight. Probably Erst is only asking to have a better idea of his experience, but he hopes a bit of him is jealous.

The bottle pops open. Folth watches with nervous interest the transference of its contents, from within the bottle to out the cap to into Erst’s palm, where it is then slathered on his erection until it is shiny-wet with it. He comes close to him on his knees until Folth’s legs rest on his. He is warm, solid. 

“I’ll do this however you want. Tell me if there’s any pain. If you need to move at all.”

Breathe, common sense tells him. Remember to breathe. It’s easy to remember, so easy it’s ringing in his head, but hard to actually do. Relax. Breathe. Everything wants to tense up, including his lungs. There’s pressure, and heat, between his buttocks. Erst grunts, grabs his hips, the pressure increases, tight-high. Thick and somehow thin. A string of tension that just… won’t… break.

The slightest nudge of progress, probably barely anything at all, makes him gasp without meaning to.

Erst retreats back that fraction of an inch before he can reassure him. “Folth, I don’t think...”

“It’s fine… don’t stop.”

“But…”

“Keep trying. Please.”

His body is so ready. That brief pain hasn’t changed that. He’s straining, aching, eager, but on another try the result is frustratingly the same. Why? _Why_? When he wants nothing more? Why won’t his body just do what he tells it to? The urge to gasp is withheld, but when the pain flares up higher than it did before, he involuntarily wiggles away, higher up the bed.

“Just let me stretch you out first. I don’t think this is going to work.” Erst sits back on his legs, looking between them both with a look of worried amusement. “And if I keep rubbing on your butt, I’m going to come.”

“Let’s trade places. I’m sure I can do it easier from on top.” Being able to use his own body weight will help. The discomfort too will be easier to handle, when he’s inflicting it on himself.

Then they’ll be able to get right to it, and Erst will stop making this concerned face at him.

They switch around. He likes this place too, like he’s on top in both manners of speech. Taking Erst instead of being taken has naturally occurred to him, with many details that he’s curious to know; the kind of cute face he’d make, the noises, how his insides would feel, just as surely as Erst must be thinking those things about him.

Aiming is harder than he would have guessed. He knows where his anus is but somehow, with one hand, blind, the tip keeps pressing either up between his buttcheeks, or uselessly into his perineum. It hurts either way when he tries to enter it into him, which makes it harder to tell if he has the right spot. The exertion and constant low-grade pain makes him sweat. Erst strokes him as he softens to keep his interest up. Then finally, there is a sensation of give, and his body being penetrated. 

He finishes the process in stops and starts, breath following the same pattern. His muscles ache and tremble through the increasing burn skewering his insides. As an active young man, he is used to his body doing what he tells it to; that it is so difficult to make it do what both it and he want is galling. But finally, it is done, and his butt rests on Erst’s pelvis. This isn’t how he imagined this, but it’ll have to do.

“It hurts, right? Do you think you can move around like this?”

“Well…” He tries. Just shifting himself renews the dull, throbbing ache inside him into a fresh sear. No, he doesn’t think they can actually fuck like this. He’s frustrated about that, too, but consoles himself in knowing that there will be more opportunities, and they will only get better the more they know each other. “You’re close, right? Do you want to come?”

“You should finish first, right? What are you going to come on if I get soft? Honestly, seeing you like that will probably be enough anyway.”

Not because it would feel good, with the squeezing and contracting combined with the heat and wet. He thinks _seeing_ him get off would be so hot he couldn’t help himself. 

A little of his emotional discomfort eases. “I’ll show you…” Erst’s hand makes way for his around his cock. Poor thing, still stiff after the ups and downs in the past few minutes. It happened a little with Gian too, but now it is particularly hard to be natural and jerk himself off the way he usually does. He is too aware of being watched. A little showmanship has to enter into things.

He grips his shaft at the base and works his way in slow, hard strokes, so that the pre-come drips freely as he milks himself. They are visible as glimmers in the faint light where they end up on Erst’s belly. When he’s done he’ll lick it off along with the other mess he’ll make, press his tongue into his bellybutton like he could have him that way instead, so hard he feels it between his legs, the squirmy tingling sensation of being pushed into, even in such an innocuous place. He’d like to rub his glans more but doesn’t want to interrupt the flow of it. It still aches inside him and not in a particularly good way but he’s still glad to experience it and breathe deep, in and out, as his body attempts to adjust.

At no point does being penetrated start to be good, but when he comes, eyes closed to take it all in better, it definitely adds something to the orgasm to have a cock to clench on. The pleasure that typically centers at his dick spreads down into his balls, through his perineum, and up the walls of his insides. For a moment he is not self-conscious when Erst whispers his name and digs his fingers into his thighs. The dry irritation in him becomes less noticeable.

That was it? That was sex.

A wordless affection suffuses his blood, warming every inch of his body. He rubs his palm absently into Erst’s forearm. Sex. Love. Post-orgasm high. Maybe all of that. His head is buzzing. They come to him as abstract concepts, not as words or thought out ideas. Right now he is beyond even that. If he stays still he might drowse off. He holds up his hand to blearily look at and finds little of his own spooge. It’s on Erst, like he hoped, spattered nicely over his belly and a few high-reaching drops on his ribs..

Erst watches him with very sleepy eyes. Smiling. “I can’t believe I just came in you.”

Folth nods. And having sex means… not being a virgin. He’d read a few non-graphic young adult books from the library as a young teenager, and each time came across the wondering of such a thing, and whether it would be visible. He’d thought it a little silly then; of course no one could tell a thing like that. So he’s amused to find himself coming around to the same thought as he becomes capable of being in his head again. Would Arca be able to tell? Pariet? Even just to know that he’s different in some way?

They carefully part. The ache inside him is now very pleasant. It’s a reminder of what happened. Hopefully it’ll last for a few days.

He nuzzles his face into Erst’s stomach and cleans up after himself. Each lick is long, thoughtful, the better to feel his muscles twitch under his lips. The taste of his semen hadn’t bothered him overly but it’s much better like this on a platter of soft lightly salty skin. It slides like custard right into his throat. When he tries the bellybutton Erst jerks up onto his elbows. Folth glances at his expression—focused right on him—and does it again. Erst makes a small _ah_ of noise and pushes back on his shoulder. 

“No?”

“It’s fine, but it makes my dick hurt like it’s trying to get hard again.”

Information to file away for later.

Folth’s habit after orgasm is to conk off to sleep. The pull of it is strong but Erst is still awake, and attentive, so he feels obligated to keep awake too. They curl up under the blankets and hold hands, facing each other. You were so cute, Erst tells him, so good and sweet, then shakes his head with playful bashfulness when Folth returns the compliments. You’re so good-looking, even your cock is handsome.

“Who was it?” Erst asks so suddenly that Folth thinks he must be a _little_ jealous, that it must be bothering him a _little_ bit. “The man you were with?”

“Gian.” He sketches out the details of this occurring. Erst displays no particular reaction to it. “I like him. Not like I _love_ you, but I do like him.”

“What will you tell him?”

He hesitates. “Whatever you want me to.”

Erst takes his time deciding what that is, exactly. His cheek is visibly being chewed on from the inside. Folth is a little apprehensive, but not so anxious it’s keeping him up. He has to concentrate on recalling the evening’s events for that. Finally, “You don’t have to refuse. As long as I know you love me.”

“You’re sure?”

“We’re all losing our memories after this anyway. You can make the most of it, if you want.”

Folth examines his face while he’s asleep. Does he really mean it? It’s fine? If they’re making the most of the situation maybe he should set Erst with someone too. He doesn’t think he could be really comfortable otherwise. The idea of match-making half-jokingly occupies his thoughts until he drifts off to sleep.

If anyone could tell it is no surprise who it is.

In the early morning he and Erst eat breakfast together in their underwear. The dishes from last night are clean and put away. His ass keeps twinging. There is nothing, he thinks, particularly intimate in how they are acting together, even though Erst has never been in before opening hours before. Just two friends. But Arca walks in, takes one look, and exclaims, “I can’t believe I lost to the male version of me!”

They finish eating as a trio. Her good-natured griping and sighing hides probably the same bitter disappointment he would have felt. But besides Erst’s own stated aversion to the idea of being in a relationship with her, he wouldn't pick her out for him. He doesn’t think of himself as the jealous type but when Erst goes back, it will be with her. And that does hurt a little.

“Spinel seems really interested in you,” he suggests to her instead. They aren’t really the same person just with genitals changed around, but he assumes that she shares his same inclinations. “You might try hitting it up with her.”

“Who?”


End file.
